


The Middle Seat

by DracoIgnis, Dragon_and_Direwolf



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fingerfucking, Flying, Humor, Incest, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf
Summary: Jon hates flying - he is always stuck in the middle seat, and it's always next to someone unpleasant. But on his way to see his dad, he is seated next to Daenerys. She is funny, she is sweet, and she is interested in him. But is she also someone he should know?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 70
Kudos: 392





	The Middle Seat

Jon _hates_ flying.

Not because he’s scared of heights, or has to show up at the airport hours before takeoff, or due to being stopped at security for looking _suspicious._ It’s the fact that flying alone means he’s always placed in the unwanted spare spots: by the emergency exit, right next to the toilet, or, like now, in the dreaded _middle seat._

_But,_ Jon thinks as he trudges his way down the narrow aisle, his eyes catching sight of his row, _perhaps my luck is about to turn._

Twelve hours from London to San Francisco is a long time, especially when squeezed in between a grandmother painting her toenails and a man who has yet to discover the invention of mints. But the young woman sitting in 25A looks nothing like Jon’s normal companions. She is smartly dressed in black, her silver hair is braided up into a bun, and her smile is friendly when she turns and sees him staring.

“Hi,” she says, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. A golden star dangles from her lobe. It catches the light falling in from outside.

Jon places his luggage in the overhead locker whilst watching her. She is pretty, he thinks, with her bright eyes and plump lips and tanned skin and white nails. They’ve been carefully decorated with golden tips. He wonders what they would feel like dragging down his back. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry, I think you’re stuck with me today.”

“That’s what I get for checking in late,” she jests and pulls her jacket off his seat. As he settles, she folds it up in her lap, her head cocked to the side as she eyes him. “Nervous flyer?”

“No. Why?”

“The way you walked,” she shrugs, “determined. Like you were just waiting for it all to be over and done with.”

_Not anymore,_ Jon thinks, still observing her out of the corners of his eyes. But out loud he says: “It’s a long journey. I’m just worried I’ve seen all the movies already.”

“You go that often?”

“Not to San Francisco, but I travel abroad for work.”

“Are you a pilot?”

“No,” Jon laughs, “nothing that exciting. I’m a freelance photographer - I go to whoever pays me.”

“That sounds like a dream,” she sighs. She is twirling a lock of hair around her finger. The way she does it seems so _intentional,_ Jon thinks; slowly, her pale lashes bashing. He wonders if she’s trying to flirt with him. He wonders if spending a night sleeping in Terminal 5 has messed with his head. He can still feel the dirty, cold tiles on his cheek. “I’m a maths teacher. The most fun I get is assigning grades.”

“If you were my teacher in school, I might have paid attention,” Jon says before thinking. The moment the words have left his lips, he feels his cheeks glow. He mumbles: “I mean, because you’re very _well spoken.”_ He can’t look at her. He pretends to be busy putting on his belt, but he can hear her smirking when she replies:

“Well, I do teach _primary school_ kids, so my, ah, _manner of speech_ matters little to them.”

“Right,” Jon says, still fiddling with the buckle.

The woman pauses. Then, she holds out her hand. “I’m Daenerys,” she says.

“Jon,” Jon replies, giving her hand a brief shake. His palm is sweaty and rough. Hers is dry and soft. He notes she doesn’t wear any rings. “That’s quite a mouthful.”

She laughs. “Just Dany is fine,” she assures him.

“Dany,” Jon repeats. It rolls nicely off the tongue. It seems familiar - like it belongs on his lips. _Dany, Dany, Dany._ He tries to remember where he’s heard that nickname before. “Well, Dany, I promise to be an exemplary seat mate. I will cause no trouble at all.”

Daenerys watches him with a warm smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she says, “but I will make no such promises myself.” There’s a twinkle to her eyes.

Jon finds he can’t look away. Something about her draws him closer. He parts his lips to speak - but his armrest shakes in the same. Someone sits down next to him by the aisle. He turns to face a tall, blond man with a rough stubble on his chin and eager blue eyes.

“Are we doing introductions?” he asks and shoves his hand past Jon into Daenerys’ space. “I’m Jorah. It’s a pleasure.”

Jon can’t help but frown, but Daenerys pulls a pleasant face as she shakes the man’s hand. “Daenerys,” she says again, “nice to meet you, Jorah.”

In comparison to Jon’s brief greeting, Jorah’s hand lingers for a few shakes. It’s not until Jon forces a cough and leans forward in his seat that he pulls away. “I’m Jon,” he says.

“Sure,” Jorah replies, looking the other way.

Jon sends Daenerys a bewildered look, and she silently chuckles into her hand. With a shake of his head, he sinks back into his seat and watches the screen as the safety announcement starts playing:

“ _-welcome on-board this airline. We are now ready for takeoff. Please take a moment to watch our safety video-”_

* * *

As Jon flips through the catalogue of movies for a third time, Daenerys asks: “Have you actually seen them all, or are you just exceptionally picky?”

Jon pulls out his earphones and glances toward her. She’s curled up against the window, the shade partially pulled down, and her jacket flung over her like a duvet. “You know, they gave us a blanket when we took off.”

“I’m saving it for sleeping in,” Daenerys says and pauses the movie she’s watching. “You should give this one a go - it’s very _romantic.”_

Jon leans over to see her screen. He narrows his eyes as he reads the title out loud: _“A star is born_? What is that?”

Before Daenerys can reply, Jorah interjects: “Oh! Is that the original or the remake?” He leans forward in his seat. There are two empty mini-bottles of white wine on his tray, and it’s starting to show in his cheeks - they’re ruddy. “I love Barbara Streisand.”

“It’s got Lady Gaga in it,” Daenerys replies.

“Oh,” Jorah says, and he looks like he doesn’t know what else to add, so he leans back and starts playing with his empty glass of wine.

“Am I meant to know who that is?” Jon asks.

Daenerys sends him a pained look, but she doesn’t comment. She tugs at her jacket as she continues: “Are you travelling for work then?”

“No, this is my holiday,” Jon says and rubs the earphones between his fingertips. “I’m meeting up with my dad.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I’m actually going to see my brother.”

“Is he American?”

“No, English - he just uses his accent to get laid.”

Jon laughs and grabs his drink off the tray-table. His glass of beer is half empty. He wonders how many he’s had - time seems to move at a different speed when up in the air. _Perhaps I shouldn’t judge Jorah either,_ Jon thinks, side-eyeing the man as he waves down the passing trolley for a third bottle. “I’d do the same, but people tend not to understand what I’m saying.”

“You’re from Edinburgh, aren’t you?” Daenerys asks and, when Jon looks at her in surprise, she explains: “My brother’s married to a Scottish woman. I recognised the accent straight away.”

“Isn’t this a small world,” Jon mumbles and sips his beer. Daenerys just smiles and twirls another lock around her finger, making his groin itch. He adjusts himself in his seat. “So, what’s that movie of yours about?”

“Well, this is Lady Gaga,” Daenerys says, tapping a nail to the screen, “she plays a singer, and this,” she taps to the man next to her, “is Bradley Cooper. He plays a famous musician. When they get together, he helps her career progress. A real rags to riches tale.”

“Nice love story,” Jon says and empties his beer.

“Yeah, if he didn’t suffer from alcoholism.”

Jon looks at his empty glass and slowly puts it down. “I don’t tend to drink a lot,” he promises.

Daenerys chuckles and hands him one of her headphones. “Do you want to watch it with me?”

“I’ve got my own screen,” Jon says, but he still takes the earbud in his hand.

“There’s something nice about watching a movie together,” Daenerys says, putting her own in as she starts the film over. “Can you see from that angle? Scooch in.”

Jon does as instructed; he pushes the armrest up as he leans closer to Daenerys, angling himself so that his view of the screen is clear. _It’s funny,_ he thinks as music starts playing and Bradley Cooper takes the stage, his voice so heavy that Jon can’t understand a single word he’s singing, _I was dreading this flight, but as it turns out-_ he looks at Daenerys. Her eyes are eagerly watching the screen. Her hands are closed tight around her jacket. Her face is flushed with silent excitement _-this might become the best journey yet._

Jon hesitates. Then he slowly leans against Daenerys’ shoulder, and she leans back against him as the movie plays. And though Jon doesn’t hear much of the first part, his heartbeat too loud in his ear to concentrate, he for once feels great about his middle seat.

* * *

“I can’t believe he _died.”_

As Jon licks sauce off his fingers, Daenerys laughs and helps him collect his food tray. She hands it to the woman passing down the aisle as she replies: “Well, I never said it was a happy love story.”

“But still - _he died?”_ Jon shakes his head in disbelief. It’s been three hours and a dinner since they started watching the movie together. Now, with his stomach full of spaghetti, bread, and a questionably shaped muffin, he is starting to feel tired. The lights in the ceiling seem to have dimmed. He rubs his eyes with a yawn.

“So you liked the movie?” Daenerys asks, her tone of voice slightly self-satisfied.

Jon shrugs. “All I’ll say is this - that Lady Gaga person can sing. She should do it professionally.”

“Mh-hmm, fancy that,” Daenerys replies, her lips pursed as if she’s suppressing a laugh.

Jon senses she wants to add something, but the overhead lamps turn off in the same. He peers through the blackness up at the panel. “Looks like it’s bedtime.”

“Suits me fine - we land in six hours,” Daenerys points out. She reaches beneath her seat, grabs her blanket off the floor, and rips it out of the plastic bag. As she wraps it around her body, she sighs happily. “This is why I like saving it - it feels more like going to bed.”

“I know what you mean,” Jorah slurs on Jon’s right. Jon almost jumps in his seat at the sound of him - during the movie, the man drifted off to sleep, four empty mini-bottles decorating his table. He never realised he woke up. “Nothing like the smell of a clean blanket.”

“I doubt it’s all that clean,” Jon says, ripping open his own bag. “I heard they’re often just reissued.”

“But it’s packed in plastic.”

“Yeah, they’ll do that unless it’s soiled.”

“That’s gross,” Daenerys grimaces.

“I think mine is clean,” Jorah insists. He reaches over Jon with his plastic bag. “Do you want mine?”

“It’s okay,” Daenerys assures him. Jon can see that she’s already wrapped herself tight in the fleece, her nose just peeking up over the edge. “Thank you though.”

“Alright,” Jorah shrugs, but his voice is thick with disappointment. As he leans back and slips on an eye mask, Jon can’t help but wonder if it’s pitiful or brave how many times the man has attempted to talk up Daenerys. It makes a shiver of panic go through him.

_What if I sound just as desperate?_ he wonders, pushing his own seat back. As he settles in to sleep, he finds his tiredness gone. His head is buzzing as he goes through every line of conversation he’s had with Daenerys, every little look he’s sent her, every small touch he’s placed on her arm, her shoulder, her hand. Was he warm, or weird? Charming, or creepy?

Jon tries to forget. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut. But the stars that dance across his eyelids soon become two golden ones, dangling from Daenerys’ earlobes. He thinks about her vivid eyes, and her plump lips. He thinks about her soft hands and sharp nails. He imagines her hand running up the inside of his thigh, up to his crotch, into his jeans.

As Daenerys’ fingers close around his cock, Jon’s eyes flutter open with a yelp.

“Shh,” she hushes. Her lips are by his ear. She’s leaning in over the armrest, her cheek pressed to his shoulder as if she’s dozing off to sleep. But her hand is very much awake beneath the blanket; groping, fondling, jerking its way across Jon’s hardening cock. “He’s finally asleep.”

Out of the corners of his eyes, Jon spots the outline of Jorah. The man is rolled to the side, his back facing them, and he’s snoring into the empty aisle. Jon wonders how much time has passed. Did he sleep? Before he can think to ask, Daenerys’ hand squeezes him tightly. He suppresses a moan.

“What are you doing?” he asks. His voice is but a warm whisper.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” His throat is knotted so hard he can barely get the word out, but he knows it at once to be true. _No,_ he thinks, swallowing so hard he worries the whole plane can hear him, _I don’t want her to stop._

She chuckles against his neck. “Good,” she whispers, and he can see her peering up at him through her pale lashes, the look in her eyes mischievous. “Because I don’t want to stop.”

Daenerys’ fingers are warm and snug around the length of his cock. She doesn’t have much space to move around in; Jon’s jeans are still buttoned, and his pants cling damply to her hand. As she jerks him, he feels his member throb painfully from the constraint. It makes him groan in frustration.

“Shh,” Daenerys hushes him again, “let me.” She moves onto her side as she reaches over with her other hand to undo his jeans. The button pops open, and once the zip is pulled down, Jon can breathe in relief.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. He can feel how all the blood is rushing through his body. Now, with nothing to keep him in, his cock hardens quickly in Daenerys’ small hand. It’s not just her movements making him throb - it’s where they _are._ All around them, he can hear people snoring and faint chatter, and he can see the odd overhead light clicking on and off several rows ahead of them. It’s like they’re hidden in plain sight.

“A bit more exciting than a movie, isn’t it?” Daenerys asks. When she speaks, her lips brush to his neck and make his skin tingle.

Jon imagines her warm breath closing around his cock, sucking him in, swallowing him deep into her mouth. The thought alone makes him hot. He can’t even concentrate on an answer - he just nods and mumbles: “Mh-hmm.”

Daenerys licks her lips. Her tongue flickers against his Adam’s apple. Her nose glides up across his jaw. She’s whispering into his ear: “It’s all I could think about.”

“During the movie?” Jon asks. He almost can’t hear his own voice. It is low, and hoarse, and weakened by Daenerys’ hand steadily jerking him. As he throbs in her hand, her pacing picks up; the bottom of her palm rubs to his balls, her thumb strokes his cockhead, her fingers drag precum down his length, making him slick.

“Mhmm,” Daenerys hums in agreement. “I thought of dragging you into the toilet and letting you fuck me over the sink.”

“Gods,” Jon moans. He doesn’t even need details - the idea is vivid in his imagination. He adjusts himself in the seat, the backrest groaning as he moves around. “Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t want to make your seatmate suspicious.”

Jon suppresses a laugh. It comes out as a grunt. His cock is rock hard. Sweat drips from his brow to his cheek. He tries to move silently, lifting his right leg a little as he turns toward her, giving her more space to work in. “This is not without risk either.”

“Then you better be quiet,” Daenerys says and, without explaining further, she lifts up the blanket and sinks her head beneath it.

As Daenerys’ lips close around his cock, Jon takes in a sharp breath and grabs a hold of his armrests. He was unprepared. He can’t help a small groan of _“Fuck!”_ from escaping his lips. Her mouth is tight and wet, and her small tongue teases his head perfectly. She manages to do it all without a single sound; quietly, but with purpose, she starts bobbing her head up and down across his cock, making his blanket shuffle. All Jon can do is cling onto the fabric and try to keep it in place, his eyes scanning the aisle for anyone passing by.

_I should stop this,_ Jon thinks, his forehead now slick with sweat. His heart is beating in his throat. Even if he wanted to make a sound, he’s not sure he could. _I should push her off and zip myself up and go to the loo. This is not right. This is not right._ \- But it feels _too good_ for him to protest, and the moment Daenerys’ hands grab at his balls, Jon knows that he’s too far gone to turn back.

When he comes, Jon bites his tongue so harshly that he’s sure he can taste blood. His whole body shudders in the seat, and the chair groans with his movements. His hips roll up to meet Daenerys’ movements, and she keeps her lips on him, swallowing every ounce of his cum as he fills her mouth. She doesn’t pull away until he’s gone limp in her hold.

As Daenerys’ head pops free of the blanket, she blows a lock of hair out of her face. Her cheeks are red. Her forehead glistens in the dim light from the emergency light above her. “It’s warm down there,” she says as she wipes her lips off in her hand. Her voice is casual - as if she’s just referring to the weather.

Jon stares at her in disbelief, his heart still pounding, his mind foggy from his orgasm. “What?” he just replies.

Daenerys chuckles. She settles back in her seat, snuggling up under her own blanket, her eyes falling closed. For a moment, Jon thinks she’s just going to go back to sleep - but then her hand slips back up his leg, and she grabs a hold of his wrist. Silently, she urges him along, and Jon follows puzzled as she drags his hand over the armrest, under her blanket, up between her legs.

It isn’t until Jon’s fingertips brushes to her damp inner thighs that he realises what she’s asking him to do. She has pulled up her skirt and pushed her knees apart, giving him the space to press his hand flatly against her pants. They’re soaked, and barely cover her cunt. The moment Jon’s fingers make contact, he feels them sinking in between her labia, her sex opening for him.

“Gently,” Daenerys whispers.

Jon looks at her. Her eyes are still closed, and her lips pursed, as if she really _is_ sleeping. _She is better at acting than me,_ he thinks, bemused and impressed all at once. He glances back at Jorah. The man has moved onto his back, but he’s still snoring, his nose facing the ceiling. Then he looks ahead of them, between the seats, making sure no one is awake and watching. Then, with one last look at Daenerys’ calm face, he pulls her pants aside and lets his fingers sink into her wetness.

Daenerys’ cunt is warmer than her mouth. She shivers as his rough fingertips stroke across the smooth shape of her sex. He moves as she asked; gently, and slowly, exploring as much of her as he can reach. He’s on his side, his shoulder pushed into the seat and his hand angled over the armrest. It hurts, but it doesn’t matter - not when his thumb brushes against her nub, making her lips pop in a small gasp.

“Shh,” he teases with a wry smile.

Daenerys scoffs. She lolls her head to the side and peers at him through her lashes. Once he catches her eyes, he finds he can’t look away; as he sinks a finger into her, she moans quietly, watching him as if she wants to eat him up.

It takes everything in Jon not to just rip the blanket off of her, hoist her legs up onto his shoulders, and fuck her senseless right there on the plane. But he holds his breath, forcing himself to ignore his cock as it throbs back into life, and instead he focuses on making Daenerys feel good. He sinks a second finger into her.

Daenerys bites her lip and closes her eyes again. “I wish that was your cock,” she mumbles.

Jon swallows and scoots closer. His other arm pushes behind her neck, sinks down around her shoulders as he leans in. He imagines anyone passing by will think they’re sleeping or trying to peer through the darkness outside. At least he hopes they won’t realise that he’s started to finger-fuck her, her juices slickening her inners and making it easy for him to move. “I wish so too.”

“I should’ve done it. I should’ve dragged you to the toilet.”

“You should’ve,” Jon agrees, his breath in his throat now as the fantasy returns to his mind.

“What would you’ve done?” she asks.

Jon pauses. He can see it vividly in his head, but saying it out loud somehow feels _dirty._ It feels _wrong._ He parts his lips. He closes them.

Daenerys whimpers and pushes herself down to meet his hand. “Please, Jon,” she says. Her begging makes his ears go red, more so when she peers up at him with need. “Tell me.”

It _is_ hot under the blanket. As Jon tries to think, he can feel the perspiration building up on her thighs, between her legs, down to her arse. When she glides further into the seat, her buttocks move noisily across the leather padding.

The sound makes her cheeks glow pink. “Fuck.”

“No one heard anything,” Jon assures her, though he still peeks around them just in case.

Daenerys huffs. Her breathing is becoming more ragged. As Jon attempts to slip a third finger into her, she grabs his hand and leads it to her nub instead.

“Here,” she whispers, “like this” - and she moves his hand in circles around her clit until he gets a hang of the movement.

“So specific,” he teases, but he feels grateful for the guidance. In the dark, beneath the layers of their blankets and her dress and her soaked pants, it is difficult to find space to experiment. So he circles her nub, his fingers moving up and down in a quiet, wet noise that he hopes is only audible to them.

“Tell me,” Daenerys asks again. Her voice is even more strained now. Jon imagines she’s on edge. “What you would’ve done.”

“I would-” Jon starts and stops. “I-” He looks for words. He closes his eyes and slips back into his fantasy. He sees himself: he grabs Daenerys, he pushes her around and bends her over the small sink, he rips up her dress, he sinks into her cunt. “I’d pushed you down and fucked you from behind,” he finally admits.

Daenerys breathes in sharply. For a moment, Jon fears she doesn’t like what she’s heard - but then she moans: “Go on.”

Jon feels encouraged. He swallows and leans closer, his lips hovering her ear as he continues: “I’d pull your pants aside, like now, and take you. Hard.”

“Mh-hm,” Daenerys mumbles. He can feel her tongue moving in her mouth behind her cheek - it’s like she’s biting on to it, concentrating, furrowing her brows as he rubs her toward an orgasm. “Go on.”

Jon is blushing, and he is sweating, and his arm is aching, and his cock is throbbing. He can’t believe what he’s doing. But he doesn’t want to stop. “I’d make you cum on my cock,” he says.

“Fuck,” Daenerys whispers. She doesn’t add: _Go on_ \- but the way her hand clasps down atop his, moving him to the exact spot she wants touched says it all.

“I’d hold my hand over your mouth to quiet you-”

_“Yes,_ Jon, _yes.”_

“And take you-”

“Mhm!”

“-again and again-”

Daenerys gasps.

Jon pushes his nose into her hair, smells her, tastes her in the air as he whispers: “Until you grow sore.”

Daenerys turns her head and kisses him as she comes. Her moans and whimpers grow quiet against his lips as her hips jerk, her body succumbing to the orgasm she’s been building up.

Jon’s fingers are trapped against her sex, her hand holding him in place as she finishes herself against his palm. Only when her body slumps back into her seat does she let him pull back.

“Fuck,” she whispers. There is sweat on her brow.

Jon wipes his hand off in an old napkin from his last drink as he watches her. “Do you do that often?” he asks. It’s meant to be a joke. Still he somewhat wants to know the answer.

Daenerys shakes her head. She is still not looking at him, just allowing her body to calm down, her eyes staring out into the blackness ahead of her. “Never.”

“Never?” Jon says surprised.

Daenerys lazily lets her gaze slip back to meet his. As she repeats: “Never,” he knows that she means it. There’s honesty in her tired eyes. The smile on her lips is genuine. “But I’d do it again - with you.”

Jon feels his cheeks glow. He pretends not to hear it, but he’s grinning as he zips himself back up and settles under his blanket. For a few minutes, neither of them speak, huddled up close and quiet.

“They should burn these blankets,” Daenerys then says.

Jon can’t help but laugh. “And whose fault is that?”

Daenerys shakes her head. Then she sits still. She is breathing so quietly that Jon thinks she might have fallen asleep - until her hand searches under his blanket again. However this time, she doesn’t reach for his crotch. She grabs his hand, pushes her fingers in between his, and holds it tight.

Jon feels a flutter in his chest. When she squeezes his hand, he squeezes hers back, and they sit like that, falling asleep as the greying sky outside grows light again.

* * *

Jon’s hand luggage is bulging. He drags the suitcase behind him with difficulty. Daenerys has slowed down to allow him time to catch up. “I can’t believe you brought the blankets with you,” she says when he reaches her side again. “They barely fit.”

“What was I going to do - let someone else sit in my _sweat?”_

Daenerys laughs. “You are a good man,” she says with a teasing smile, and though Jon knows she’s joking, he feels his cheeks glow a little.

It’s been twelve hours since Jon got on the dreaded flight. By now, walking through the terminal on his way out of the airport, he’d normally be tired and grumpy and angry. But today he feels amazing; light on his feet despite the heavy suitcase, with a clear mind and a smile on his lips. He knows the reason why - and he can’t help stealing glances at her whenever he gets a moment.

Daenerys is looking at him too. He catches her eyes, and they grin at each other before looking down at their feet. “Will you be in San Francisco for long?” she asks.

“Three weeks,” Jon says.

“Do you think you’ll have any spare time?” she continues.

Jon suppresses an even wider grin. “I might,” he says casually as they head to the baggage reclaim area.

“Do you want my number?”

As they wait for their luggage to arrive, they swap mobiles as they enter their own number into the other’s contact list. Jon feels smug as he carefully selects a few emojis for her to remember him by - an aubergine, a smirking face, the UK flag. When he hands it back, she laughs.

“Nice choice.”

“Just don’t want you to forget,” Jon says. He watches her peering at her screen as they drag their luggage behind them toward the exit. Her brows are furrowed. “Something wrong?”

“Your last name is Snow?” she asks.

“Yeah?”

“Jon Snow?”

“Yes?” Jon’s own brows are furrowing. “What about it?”

“It sounds so familiar,” Daenerys mumbles. “I just don’t know why.”

“Funny, I thought your name sounded familiar,” Jon points out. “Maybe it’s just one of those things.”

“Maybe,” Daenerys says, but she doesn’t seem convinced. She still slips her mobile away as they step into the arrivals hall.

People are hanging onto the railings. There are drivers with signs, and children jumping excitedly about as they await their parents, and a few young folks longing longingly for their friends in the crowd. Jon stretches his neck and smiles as he spots his dad. Rhaegar lifts his hand to wave. He waves back.

“I see my dad,” he says.

“Ah - there’s my brother,” Daenerys says, also waving to someone. She looks up at Jon and sends him a small smile. “Well, I guess this is goodbye then.”

“For now,” Jon says. He stares into her violet eyes. He finds he doesn’t want to look away.

“Well,” Daenerys says, “you’ve got my number.”

“Yes,” Jon agrees, “and you’ve got mine.”

For a moment, they just stand staring at each other. Then, Jon reaches over, cups Daenerys’ face in his hands, and gives her a warm kiss. He means for it to be short, but when he’s about to pull away, she grabs him by the shirt and drags him back down for another one that makes his chest fill with heat. By the time she lets go, he feels breathless.

“Well then,” Daenerys says, a little smile on her lips. “Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Jon says. He waves at her - and then starts walking with her.

At first, they both chuckle awkwardly and wave again, expecting to part at any minute. But the closer Jon gets to Rhaegar, the more he realises that she’s walking toward the same spot as him.

“Hold on,” Jon says, his eyes flickering between his dad and Daenerys, “which one is your brother?”

“Uhm, that one,” Daenerys says and nods toward the crowd, “tall, silver hair, looks like me? Where’s your dad?”

“Well, he’s-” Jon doesn’t get any further. They’ve stopped in front of Rhaegar. They look at each other. Rhaegar looks at them. His pale face is even more white than normal.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Daenerys and Jon reply at once. The colour is draining from their cheeks too. Jon has started to feel light-headed.

Rhaegar clears his throat. “Well, this was meant to be a surprise - a chance for the two of you to meet - but I see that you’ve already, well-” Like Jon, his voice also falters. He takes in a deep breath. Then he awkwardly gestures between them: “Jon, meet your aunt Dany. Dany, this is your nephew Jon.”

“Hi,” Daenerys says meekly to Jon.

“Hey,” Jon replies. For some reason, he grabs and shakes her hand. It makes both of them blush.

Rhaegar clears his throat again. “Well, it’s good to see you get along, since we’ll be spending three weeks together.”

“Right,” Jon says.

“Sure,” Daenerys replies.

They all go quiet again. Jon’s heart is beating in his throat. As Rhaegar silently starts leading the way through the hall toward the car park outside, he can’t help but think: _Did I just receive a blowjob from my aunt? Did I just rub her off?_ And, more mortifyingly: _Did Dad just see me make out with her?_ He peers toward Daenerys. She seems to be thinking the same thing - her cheeks are red, and her eyes keep flickering between the floor and him.

“Well,” Rhaegar says again. His voice seems hesitant. He appears to be desperate for a conversation. He tries to send them a chipper look over his shoulder. “It’s a long drive, folks, and the car is a bit cold. I hope you’ve brought layers.”

“We brought our own blankets,” Jon says without thinking.

Daenerys hides a laugh with a cough whilst Rhaegar lights up. “Oh, that’s good. That’s brilliant.”

“Yeah, brilliant,” Daenerys mumbles, watching Jon with amusement.

Jon can’t help but smile at her and shrug. “Guess I don’t need your number anymore,” he says quietly.

She rolls her eyes, but she too is smiling. “I guess not.”

As they walk, their hands bump, and, without agreeing to out loud, Jon finds that their fingers intertwine in the middle. And so they walk behind Rhaegar, hand in hand, their suitcases groaning against the floor, and Jon thinks to himself: _Maybe the middle seat is not always bad news._

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first story I started working on when October came around. The thought of Jon and Dany getting dirty without knowing their relation is just so hot - I had to do it!
> 
> How do you deal with flight seats? I always get assigned the window one but, surprise surprise, DragonandDirewolf claims it, and I'm stuck next to someone who thinks their seat should consist of half of mine.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little Wednesday story.


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